


vaudeville & variety

by satellites (brella)



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brella/pseuds/satellites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dick Grayson is framed for an egregious crime he didn’t commit, it’s up to him and his trusty lady companions to crack the case before it’s too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	vaudeville & variety

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katieandkirby](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=katieandkirby).



> 12 Days of Ficmas: Day 5  
> katieandkirby requested: “A day at Gotham Academy from Dick’s or Artemis’s POV, maybe with some Dick/Babs thrown in”

Put bluntly, Dick’s ideal place to be spending his Monday morning isn’t exactly the dean’s office. Not that History class is a dazzling slice of entertainment, either, but at least it doesn’t require disciplinary action. Aside from which, the dean smells like strawberries.He sighs, knocking his knees together rhythmically and trying to comb his hair back with his fingers. He hadn’t gelled it properly that morning, so it’s already starting to look unkempt. He glances at his watch. 9:30 exactly.  
  
“Richard?” the secretary calls. “He’ll see you now.”  
  
Dick springs to his feet, straightens his blazer, and strides for the wooden door, quirking an amused eyebrow at the gold plaque:  _Dean Wilcox_.  
  
Upon entering, he flashes his most charismatic smile. Philip Wilcox, bespectacled and perpetually unimpressed, flicks his eyes up from whatever admissions letter he’s signing.  
  
“Grayson,” he says. “Sit down.”  
  
Dick straightens his tie and does so, keeping silent. Most of the women faculty he can charm with jokes and flair, but Wilcox has always been a bit more of a challenge. Not that it had been difficult to nudge him into admitting Artemis, though Bruce had probably had more to do with that than anything else.  
  
Wilcox closes his pen and sets it down before sitting forward in his leather chair and folding his hands on the desk and Dick would be giggling at the clichéd-ness of it all if he wasn’t facing suspension, or whatever.  
  
“So,” Wilcox begins, drawing out the opening until Dick raises his eyebrows. “Looks like you’re in a spot of trouble.”  
  
“I guess that remains to be seen,” Dick replies, crossing one knee over the other.  
  
Wilcox raises his eyebrow.  
  
“Well, what I’m  _seeing_  is an act of vandalism,” Wilcox says dryly. “And a culprit. Sitting right here.”  
  
Dick slowly looks over his left shoulder, then his right, surveying the room with scrutiny.  
  
Wilcox sighs irritably.  
  
“It’s you, Grayson.”  
  
Dick lets out a scandalized gasp, putting his hand over his chest. “What,  _me_? Do you have any  _proof_?”  
  
“Reliable testimony from a trusted… student,” Wilcox explains, clearing his throat. “Bette Kane seems to be under the impression that you’re to blame for the destruction of her iris project in the Biology lab, since some of its, er,  _roots_  were found among  _your_  possessions this morning.”  
  
Dick has to reign in a guffaw. Leave it to Gotham Academy to treat a ruined science project like a crime.  
  
“I’m not even  _in_  that class,” he counters. “And I don’t know Bette Kane, either. She’s two grades above me.”  
  
“That may be,” Wilcox huffs with impatience, “but it doesn’t change the fact that dirt and roots from the plant were found in your locker. This school does not tolerate sabotage of final science projects, Mr. Grayson; we don’t care  _whose_  care you’re in. Proper disciplinary action will be decided after we speak to Mr. Wayne—”  
  
“ _Or_ ,” Dick interjects, sitting sharply forward and folding his arms, “We could try a little something else.”  
  


* * *

  
  
“So what you’re saying is,” Babs summarizes raptly, one hand brandishing half of a tortilla chip as she talks, “we’re gonna solve a mystery?”  
  
“Stop a criminal in his or her tracks, yeah, basically,” Dick agrees, beaming, before returning to his Superman-themed Thermos of chicken noodle.  
  
Artemis, her tie askew and her blazer rumpled, stares between the two of them with an utterly deadpan expression, her fork poised halfway above her salad.  
  
“You guys can’t be serious,” she says flatly.  
  
The three of them are standing in a semi-circle outside of the library, their breath clouding haphazardly in front of them from the cold, during the break period between early and late morning classes. Artemis, her knee socks uneven and drooping, holds her Tupperware container of salad and frowns at her shorter companions; Babs, wrapped in her scarf and peacoat, hangs on Dick’s every word; and Dick regularly adjusts his messenger bag as he sips from the Thermos.  
  
“As the plague, actually,” Dick counters, shooting her an amused glance. “Come  _on_ , it’ll be fantastic; you can be my assistants. Two Watsons for the price of one.”  
  
“Shut up, Grayson; I am  _not_  a Watson!” Artemis barks, narrowing her eyes at him. “And can you  _get_  any more crazy? It’s an iris, not a dead body, and you’ve obviously got enough nepotism going for you to not have to answer for it anyway.”  
  
“I think it sounds cool,” Babs says, her grin matching Dick’s. “I’ve always wanted to be a legit detective.”  
  
“You’re not going to be detecting anything!” Artemis groans, throwing her hands out incredulously. “It’s a stupid  _plant_!”  
  
“Uh,  _clearly_  the jaded officer in this scenario is Miss Crock here,” Dick says with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t worry, Detective Gordon; she’ll come around.”  
  
“Are they seriously going to suspend you if you don’t prove that somebody else broke Bette’s dumb flower?” Artemis asks skeptically.  
  
“Or worse – have me impounded in a locker,” Dick declares histrionically. “Like – like some sort of  _mathlete_!”  
  
“Not that lockers aren’t a cozy habitat for you anyway,” Babs quips with a raised eyebrow, finishing off her sandwich, “but wouldn’t you rather make this interesting?”  
  
“Totally,” Dick agrees. “Plus Wilcox says we can have the whole day off classes for our investigation.”  
  
“That’s ridiculous,” Artemis deadpans. “I’m totally in.”  
  
“Ready to crack this case wide open, ladies?” Dick asks, sticking his fist out.  
  
Babs responds immediately, pounding her own knuckles against his. “Born ready, Mister Holmes.”  
  
Artemis pulls a face before nudging her limp hand against theirs. “I don’t know why I hang out with you guys.”  
  


* * *

  
  
They decide to begin by investigating the scene of the crime. Biology classes don’t start in the laboratory until after lunch, so there’s plenty of time for snooping, Dick is sure. Barbara picks the lock in a few seconds, much to Artemis’s bewilderment, and the three of them slink in before coming to a halt in front of the table set aside for the iris projects.  
  
“So their final project is to grow a flower,” Artemis deadpans. “How  _Gotham_.”  
  
“From a bulb, ’Mis,” Dick adds, tapping his chin as he searches for Bette’s jar. “Harder than it looks.”  
  
“Cute; a mathlete and a botanist,” Artemis grumbles, folding her arms. “Shouldn’t I be, like, keeping watch or something?”  
  
“Excellent idea,” Dick declares, shooing dismissively at her. “To the door, Watson. Chop-chop.”  
  
“I’ll kill and then eat you,” Artemis growls before whipping around to stalk back to the door.  
  
“Found it, Dick,” Babs says, pointing at a broken jar in between David Zavimbe’s and Charlotte Gage-Radcliffe’s. The tape across it reads  _BETTE KANE_  in bold purple letters.  
  
“You certainly did, my faithful companion.” Dick claps her on the back, grinning, and lets his hand sit there for a moment too long. “So.  _So_. Let’s take a look at this little kerfuffle.”  
  
“Someone definitely broke it,” Babs observes pensively. “Well, I mean,  _duh_  they broke it, but see, they swept up most of the glass; this is just what was left. I don’t see any soil inside it, though, so maybe they broke the jar… somewhere else… and then put it back.”  
  
“Clearly the goal here was the iris,” Dick muses, scratching at his gelled hair. “So this was sabotage. But before we ask ourselves why the culprit wanted to frame  _me_ , we have to ask why they wanted to ruin Bette’s iris in the first place.”  
  
“Because they’re good people?” Babs suggests with a smirk, and Dick nudges her, snickering.    
  
“So vindictive,” he jokes. “Like a snake.”  
  
“Let’s go with relentless and dogged like a bat,” Babs retorts airily, and Dick has to work not to choke on his own spit.  
  
“Are you guys done yet?” Artemis drawls. “I’m hungry.”  
  
“Not yet,” Babs retorts gleefully, reaching into her bag and producing a large, round-tipped brush and a white tub of powder. “We have to dust for prints!”  
  
Artemis lets out a groan so audible that it startles some of the rats.  
  
“You have  _got_  to be joking,” she exclaims. “Oh my god. You  _carry around_  a fingerprint-dusting kit? Slay me.”  
  
“Atta girl,” Dick commends Babs, patting her shoulder.

 

* * *

  
  
“Where were you on the night of… uh… last night?” Dick primly asks a football player during passing period, his hands folded in front of him. “We’re investigating a vandalism case.”  
  
“Yeah, whatever, Grayson,” the jock guffaws, wiping at his nose. “Why should I answer to you?”  
  
Artemis, from over Dick’s shoulder, cracks her knuckles, scowling. The sound silences half of the busy hallway into staring at her, and causes the jock to straighten up and gulp.  
  
“Uh, at Bette’s,” he says hurriedly, never taking his wide eyes off of Artemis, who smiles stiffly at him. “She was wigging out about her final project; I dunno, she needed moral support—”  
  
“Thank you for your cooperation,” Babs interrupts grandly, patting their witness on the shoulder and shoving him in the direction of the bathrooms. “You may go.”  
  
“The wheels are turning, Watsons,” Dick murmurs as he taps his chin before slinging his arms around Babs’s and Artemis’s shoulders. “I think it’s time we employed the little grey cells.”  
  
“You’re a head case,” Artemis grumbles, prying him off. He doesn’t release Babs, strolling down the hallway with his arm still around her, and she, though her cheeks are pink, doesn’t try to get out of his hold.  
  
Artemis rolls her eyes.  
  


* * *

  
  
“I’ve got it!” Dick shouts during lunch, shocking Artemis into jumping.  
  
“Got what?” Babs demands excitedly.  
  
“Bubonic plague, I’m hoping,” Artemis snarls under her breath as she tries to salvage the sandwich she’d dropped.  
  
“Please,” Dick scoffs. “The  _solution_ , Watson. The perp, the sus, the sec with the mo!”  
  
“Keep going,” Artemis says, scrambling for a notebook in her bookbag. “I can get extra credit in psych for documenting word salad.”  
  
“Hi _lar_ ious, Watson, but I’m using the official jargon.” Dick sniffs. “But really –  _really_  – I know who did it! Bette’s prints were the only ones on the jar, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Babs confirms, nodding so that her ponytail bounces. “And more importantly – the iris found in your locker was totally dead.  _Way_  beyond how dead it could be if it was just taken out of the soil.”  
  
“ _Clearly_ ,” Dick adds, raising a finger in the air, “Bette knew she was going to fail her final, so she tried to make it look like sabotage. And she hates me, so I was the perfect candidate, being innocent and kind and unsuspecting—”  
  
“Don’t push it,” Artemis grouses, folding her arms against the cold and shuddering. “We can’t prove that, no matter what we do.”  
  
“Actually we can.” Babs’s face splits into a grin. “Dick and I bugged her locker this morning. She was telling her friend all about it during passing period; we heard it.”  
  
“Wait,” Artemis interjects. “Passing period? This  _morning_? So you—” She splutters. “You two  _weirdos_  knew this the whole time that she’d messed up her own project and you dragged me into your stupid detective game  _anyway_?”  
  
“Yes,” Dick and Babs reply in unison, their innocent smiles practically identical.  
  
“I’ll  _cook_  you!” Artemis shrieks, leaping toward the two of them.  
  
In an instant, they’ve both sprinted off in opposite directions, and she has to stumble to a halt to avoid smashing into a passing group of cheerleaders who look at her disdainfully.  
  
“Piss off,” she barks, and that certainly makes them hurry along. “I just solved a freaking mystery.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Dick and Babs come together again behind the gymnasium, both breathless. Dick’s tie is askew and his hair looks mussed from the sprinting, and Babs’s nose shines bright red from the chill in the air.  
  
“I think we lost her,” Dick stage-whispers, wiping at his eyes. “This is perfect, though. Every detective story needs a chase scene.”  
  
“Please don’t act like you planned this; you’re embarrassing yourself,” Babs teases him wryly, pushing her hair behind her ear and glancing circumspectly around the area. “I don’t see her.”  
  
She turns back to Dick, still breathing a bit erratically, and offers up the best grin she can muster. He reciprocates, straightening up until his shoulders roll back, and attempts to realign his tie and blazer.  
  
Babs chews her lip pensively for a moment before swooping forward and pecking Dick on one unsuspecting cheek. She draws away to find him frozen in place, one hand hovering at the knot in his tie, his large ears reddening.  
  
She chortles behind her fist and snorts.  
  
“That’s a thank you,” she tells him through the amused peals. “Plus I figure since we’re our own clients, you deserved some kind of payment for all your hard work, and a pat on the back isn’t exactly top quality.”  
  
“Barbara Gordon, you work in mysterious ways,” Dick manages to get out, his brow furrowed, but not concealing his puzzled smile.  
  
“Oh, perfect,” Babs quips. “I’m your next job after the dead iris.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been listening to The Kinks too much! Hence the title. “Village Green Preservation Society” just seems like such a perfect song to play over various clips of scenery for a Gotham Academy sitcom theme song. Also this is really silly, I am sorry!!


End file.
